


Save that Heart for Me

by antimonyandthyme



Category: Table Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 11:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimonyandthyme/pseuds/antimonyandthyme
Summary: It's difficult wanting somebody you can't have.





	Save that Heart for Me

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.

Ma Long’s not sure what pushes him to do it. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, still biting at his heels from his last match. Or maybe it’s how even though he’s seen Jike almost every day through this tournament, they’ve barely spoken a word to each other. Or maybe it’s how they never seem to talk anymore. Ma Long can’t tell. He’s ingested enough alcohol for his thoughts to stop making sense, but not enough that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

So when the man by the bar gives him a _look_ , Ma Long goes. 

He’s lean and pretty and sharp, and he reminds him so much of Jike that it aches. The man doesn’t play coy; he’s bold in his obvious attraction to Ma Long, and it’s overwhelming and gratifying at the same time. He knows he shouldn’t—not in such a public place, but the feeling of want, want, _want_ licks down his spine and sits hot in his belly. When the man gets up, Ma Long follows. They find themselves in the men’s bathroom, lips locked in a heated kiss, when the door slams open. 

Ma Long whips his head back to look. It’s Jike. And even in his inebriated state, Ma Long can tell that he’s _furious_. He grabs Ma Long by the arm, and starts hauling him out, ignoring the protests of the other man. 

Ma Long tries to push him away, swatting at Jike ineffectively. “What are you doing,” he hisses to Jike. He’s angry all of sudden, so very angry at Jike, though he can’t quite parse out why at this moment.

“You’re drunk,” Jike states flatly. “I’m taking you back.”

“I can take care of myself,” Ma Long snaps.

“You’re interrupting,” the man interjects, approaching Jike indignantly.

“Fuck off,” Jike says dangerously. “ _Don’t touch him_.”

Ma Long stills at the threat curling in Jike’s words, possessive and primal. The man senses it too, faltering in his steps. Jike grabs Ma Long brusquely by the arm, pulling him out of the bathroom. Confused and unsure, Ma Long lets himself be led away, stumbling over his feet as Jike bundles him into a cab for the hotel. 

 

They don’t speak on the way back. They don’t speak as Jike pats his pocket for the room key, and opens the door for him. They don’t speak as Jike strips off his jacket, and nudges him toward the bed. All Ma Long can think of is how Jike has a pinched, almost sad expression on his face the entire time. Ma Long doesn’t know why it’s there, but he has a sickening feeling he’s the reason behind it.

“You should rest,” Jike finally says. His voice is back to its usual timbre, calm and low, but Ma Long knows him well enough by now to pick out the thread of weariness in it. Jike pulls off the covers, and manoeuvers Ma Long into the bed. Ma Long’s on autopilot; the tipsiness from the alcohol is wearing off, and he’s left feeling wrenched apart and exposed. The aches from the competition are making themselves known all the more now. His head hurts. 

“Jike,” he croaks helplessly.

Jike frowns. “Some water will help. Then you can sleep.” 

He turns to leave, presumably to get him a glass, but Ma Long reaches out and grabs his hand desperately. “You’re mad at me.” Ma Long’s never been able to handle fights with Jike. Even back in their youth, Jike’s disapproval always seemed devastating. “Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads. 

“I’m not,” Jike says immediately, sharply.

Ma Long flinches. 

Jike sighs. “I’m not mad,” he repeats, softer this time. “Maybe… a little hurt.”

Why, Ma Long wants to ask, but Jike looks as if he regrets letting that slip, and he turns on his heel and flees the room. Ma Long doesn't have the strength to call after him. Unbidden, his eyes slip close. 

 

Morning brings with it a stab of light that makes his head pound. Two minutes, breathing deep, willing himself to go back to sleep, and then the events of last night come flashing back. Ma Long pushes himself up gingerly. 

“Jike,” he calls tentatively. He’s greeted with silence. Ma Long expected as much. Knowing Jike, the man would’ve disappeared by now. He’d be prickly and grumpy and Ma Long should probably give him space. But all that comes to mind is the look on Jike’s face when he’d burst into the bathroom at the bar last night, how resigned he’d sounded, how he’d admitted, vulnerable in a way Ma Long has rarely been allowed to witness, _hurt_ , and Ma Long finds himself unable to stay away.

He knocks on Jike’s room door. 

“Who is it,” comes a muffled voice from within.

“Me.”

There’s a stifling pause, and then Jike opens the door. He looks as if he hadn’t slept. “What do you want,” he says tiredly.

“Can I come in?” Ma Long asks, feeling timid in a way he’s never felt before with his friend. It’s funny; Ma Long struggles to remember a time in which Jike isn’t by his side, but now, meeting each other’s eyes feels painfully awkward, like nails on a chalkboard. 

Jike steps aside woodenly, and Ma Long follows him in. It’s both the best and the worst time to do this confrontation, when they’re both still raw and reeling. What did I do wrong, Ma Long wants to say, but Jike beats him to it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Ma Long blinks. “What?”

“I overreacted last night.” There’s that pained look on Jike’s face again, and Ma Long can hardly bear it. “I shouldn’t have pulled you out of the bar like that. You’re a grown up. What you choose to do is… your business.” 

The words seem as if they had to be strained out from Jike. “No,” Ma Long says immediately. This is Jike hiding and forcing barriers up and pushing him away. “No—you, don’t do that. Tell me why.” He pushes forward, crowds into Jike’s space. Jike shrinks away from him, and despite his height over Ma Long, he looks small. “Jike,” he implores. “Tell me.”

Jike exhales, dipping his head. “All these years. In training, during tournaments, wherever. You could’ve had anybody. But I’ve never seen you look, not once.” He gives a short, mirthless laugh. “You only had eyes for table tennis.”

That’s not true, Ma Long wants to interject, but his throat won’t work. 

“And then yesterday, all of a sudden, you just went and—” Jike stops abruptly. “I overreacted. It won’t happen again.”

It takes a phenomenally long time for Ma Long’s brain to kick him into action, but even then, he knows how important his next words are. He wills his thudding pulse to slow. “Yesterday,” he begins carefully, “I did that because. Because I wanted someone I thought I couldn’t have.” 

Jike’s eyes snap to him. 

“I’ve wanted that person for a long time now,” Ma Long admits lowly. “I just thought he didn't—well, he never seemed to look.”

“Ma Long,” Jike whispers unsteadily.

It’s like a risky shot during match point, but one he has to take or regret when the game is over. Ma Long leans forward, and hesitantly places a kiss on Jike’s jaw. Jike makes a surprised, hopeful noise. And then slowly, they both move, and it’s suddenly easier, familiar, and intimate; a rally they’ve done before thousands of times. Ma Long serves, Jike returns, and they meet in the middle. 

“I’m sorry, about yesterday,” he says when he pulls back. Ma Long tips his head, and rests their foreheads together. Their noses touch. “I’m _sorry_.”

Jike huffs, but his eyes crinkle. “You’re an idiot,” he accuses, but it sounds fond.

“You still love me though,” Ma Long says, daring to be brave. 

Jike smiles, bright and happy. Ma Long counts the laugh lines around his eyes, and feels his heart swell. “Yes,” Jike says. “Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title taken from _Past Lives_ , by Børns.  
> 2\. Also, what have I done.


End file.
